


Nightmare, (This Animal I Have Become)

by ban_sidhe



Category: The Chronicles Of Riddick
Genre: Amnesia, Furyan, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ban_sidhe/pseuds/ban_sidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riddick crash-lands on a planet and what happens after</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightmare, (This Animal I Have Become)

Author’s notes: * delineates the ‘click’ sound as in Tsonga. This is a fanfic I wrote several years ago. My daughter was listening to the song in the title and it inspired this. 

 

Nightmare  
(This Animal I Have Become)

Small, dark-haired, pale-skinned, with large tilted violet eyes; *Lyliath embodied her people’s ideal of female beauty. As intelligent as she was beautiful, her fiery temper in defending her views had finally tripped her up. Someone somewhere had overheard her exploring the ways in which she believed her society was antiquated, inhumane. It was time for change, and she would do everything she could from her favored position as a member of the ruling class to see it happen. 

So here she was, languishing in prison. Granted, it was a soft, warm, well-decorated prison cell; but she was trapped here just the same. Three stories up in the west tower of her cousin Ryngal’s castle keep.  
Her summer rooms had become a gilded cage to hold her until he either sold her off in some hated, politically expedient marriage, or just had her tried and put to death for her treasonous behaviour. Looking down onto the small, rounded cobbles of the courtyard, she imagined herself leaping from her bedroom window and martyring herself in a bloody splatter for her beliefs. No, she needed to live to see this thing happen.

As the eastern sky began to lighten and pink with approaching dawn, she heard the creak of wheels and the solid clop of unshod hooves approach. Gazing below, she watched the approach of the three kitchen waste wagons that would pass beneath her. _Now or never_ , she thought as the last wagon arrived. Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and leaped.

Hoping as she plummeted that she’d jumped far enough. Wishing she knew what was in that fast-approaching wagon. Slamming into the heaped garbage nearly flat, *Lyliath oofed, the breath knocked out of her.

Their heads snapping up in reaction to the shock that rippled through the wagon, the big, slow, purple-brown steeds snorted in surprise. When nothing more startling occurred, they relaxed back into their normal, everyday rhythm and continued easily clopping across the courtyard, through the kitchen gate and down the dirt track to the middens. 

The heavy thump behind him had woken the driver from his almost doze. As he peered over his shoulder to see what had frightened his team, he was shocked speechless to see the Lady *Lyliath struggling to rise from the full load of garbage into which she had plunged. She was holding her side, gasping in obvious pain, trying to breathe.

Shaking his head in negation, he motioned her to stay down, flinging his own well-worn cloak over her. Then he turned back to face his team’s broad rumps and tried to calm his own ragged breathing.

Reaching the dump, the man drove to the far side and jumped down after setting the wagon’s brake. Lifting the tiny woman out of the back, he set her on her feet.  
“Are you alright, my Lady?” He murmured. He kept his face averted, either in fear of her, or fear of recognizing her. *Lyliath wasn’t sure which was more likely.

“I hurt my side; ribs, I think.” She whispered, unable to take a full breath.

“I cannot help you more, Lady. I’m sorry.” The man ducked his head further. 

“‘Tis rumoured, there may be an insurrectionist camp through the woods. To the north, several days walk. It’s all I can offer you.” He bowed his head again, leaped back onto his wagon and snapped the reins, moving his team away. 

“Thank you for what kindness you were able to spare.” She breathed after him, not sure he even heard.

Shivering with cold, pain and fear, the tiny woman knew she dare not hesitate. Taking as deep a breath as she could around what felt like several cracked ribs, weaponless and thirsty, she splashed into the small rill that ran out of the wood and headed upstream under the trees. 

She knew as soon as she was discovered missing, the prince would come hunting her. Shuddering as she pictured what he’d be hunting her with, increased the speed of her flight even as it made her more cautious to leave as little trace as possible. 

She was forced to leave the streamlet sooner than she wished. Her soft lady’s boots kept slipping on the round stones of the brook and she feared turning an ankle. She must be able to run or climb if necessary. Soaked through, her feet were so icy she was losing sensation. It would only make her clumsy, and HE could probably still track her at her most careful.

Just that thought had her completely freaked, having seen the animal watching her several times when the pack was in the courtyard being exercised. He was the biggest, the pack alpha and for whatever reason, seemed fascinated by her. He would boldly stare as she passed, even ignoring the handlers’ punishment to watch her.

So she found a rocky shingle and climbed out. Sitting on a large boulder, she carefully removed the soft cloth boots and her stockings, wringing both out, making sure the water removed fell back into the brook. Taking a few sips from her palm, she pulled stockings and boots back on, then sighed and headed deeper into the gloom under the forest giants.

It was very quiet, almost peaceful under the big trees. She noted very little undergrowth, probably due to the almost total shade from the thick canopy far overhead. Except for the pain in her side and semi-frozen feet, *Lyliath felt she could actually enjoy this hike. Then she remembered why she was out here and increased her speed, only paying attention to her surroundings enough to leave no sign that she had passed. Or so she hoped.

After walking for hours, she’d crossed two more small streams; one by scrambling over a downed trunk, the other by hopping from rock to rock. Although no longer thirsty, she was starving. She’d foolishly ignored the dinner provided last night and had jumped well before the arrival of breakfast. Hopefully, her habit of refusing to eat for two to three days at a time might mean it would take longer for her captors to realize her escape.

Now she needed food, and from the increasing gloom, a safe place to rest for the night. Luckily finding a hollowed log before it became too dark to see, she crawled inside, wrapped her cloak around herself and slept.

II

He woke to pain again. So the nightmare would continue another day. He remained motionless, extending his exquisitely accurate senses even before opening his eyes, no matter that his muscles screamed for release from his hampered position. Curled in the far, darkest corner of his cage, the beast sensed it was safe to move.

Stretching cramped, stiff muscles as best he could in the confining space, he slitted his eyes against the bright sun of early morning that streamed through the dusty windows of his prison. Empty stomach growling, he shivered in the cold as he carefully, silently limbered up. 

He was the first awake, as usual. Smelling and hearing the sleeping exhalations of his fellows in their own cages, he wrinkled his nose against the stink. Not that he didn’t smell just as bad. The pack was overdue for a good hosing.

Covered only in the shredded remains of the cargo pants he’d been found in, the big male crouched close to the door of his cage. He’d heard the squeak of the kitchen worker’s barrow bringing whatever leftovers Cook didn’t want for their breakfast. 

Drooling impatiently, he growled low as his stomach rumbled again. He hadn’t eaten in two days and could feel his body beginning to consume itself. That would never do; he was top dog of this pack and needed to maintain his weight and strength to stay there.

It had taken him no time at all to reach his place; he’d always been the meanest, scariest one around, whether behind bars or not. It came naturally to him, intimidating others. He enjoyed watching them squirm as they tried to figure him out, tried to determine what to do to appease him.

His handlers were afraid of him too, control devices or no. He’d heard the whispers, the speculation on whether he could actually feel much pain or whether it was just that his genetics made him more resistant.

He felt it, the agony of every old wound and blow he’d ever taken revisited as punishment. He just knew how to turn that part of his mind off. They called him Furyan, whatever that was; or beast, animal. He knew it fit him well.

Even the three remaining ‘Golls were afraid of him, always crowding together when he passed. Their hissed invectives of ‘murderer’ or ‘blood-sucker’ bothered him not a bit. After all, he was, though he could not remember how he knew that. Just as he could not remember anything from before the crash, not even his name. 

he boy entered the kennel to the waking grunts and growls of the pack. As they rolled to their feet, stretching and begging, hands reaching through the bars with whines and whimpers, he looked down the aisle to the large cage in the darkest corner.

Just like every morning, the big one crouched silently by the door, hands resting loosely curled by his feet. Returning the expectant silver stare with his own smiling, lilac one, the boy pushed his barrow further into the enclosure.

“Hungry, big fella?” He chuckled, watching the largest tracker lick his lips at breakfast’s approach. There was something different about this one, the boy thought. A wolf to the others’ dogs; always quiet, patient, watching. Never a wasted movement or sound. You could see him thinking, calculating… those reflective eyes never left you.

He was the scariest thing the boy had ever seen, much worse than the rest of the pack. And the prince only owned the best. Beautiful too, in his own way… like one of the big jagiles of the deep forest. There was a real intelligence behind that argent glare.

“Tell you what. If you want, I’ll let you choose breakfast for yourself today… if you promise not to be greedy.” The beast’s head tilted to one side as he contemplated the boy’s offer. Tipping the barrow slightly so he could see what it contained, the boy smiled at him, again.

“Well, what do you say?” He gazed into the unblinking stare and was surprised when the creature actually smiled back and nodded once in agreement. Eyes never leaving the boy’s, the big male slowly extended his left arm through the bars and picked a huge, meaty haunch bone out of the mess. Retreating to the dark back corner, he glanced up from his meal at the boy’s surprised comment.

“Really? That’s all you want?” At a second silent nod, the boy frowned slightly. “Okay, then. I’ll be back later with water.”

After gnawing every scrap of meat, fat and gristle from the joint he’d chosen, the beast rested in his corner, sucking on the cut end of the bone to remove as much marrow as he could reach. He wasn’t satisfied, but the bone was more important than his stomach right now.

It would become a weapon soon; might mean freedom or at least an end to this hideous existence. His will to survive was too strong to allow him to end his own life, but perhaps he could goad one of his tormentors into doing it for him. Meanwhile, it was something to occupy him until he was released to hunt; the only pleasure left him.

III  


*Lyliath woke to birdsong and screaming muscles. Gasping in pain as she tried to move, stiff from cold and her cramped position, she finally managed to crawl backward out of the log. It took her two attempts to stand, her cracked ribs a stabbing agony in her side. At least her feet had dried overnight. She sighed, turning to determine which direction to head in; picked up the stick she’d been using and hobbled off.

Following the sound of twittering, she straightened and moved more smoothly as her muscles warmed and loosened. Finally finding a berry patch, she stuffed herself with every one she could see, even some that weren’t fully ripe.

Now thirsty, she licked dew from some large-leafed plant as she continued in the general direction of north. The ground was beginning to rise, occasional breaks in the thick canopy allowing some sun to penetrate to the floor of the wood. More berry patches and woodland flowers occupied whatever parts of these openings were not solid rock. The trees were farther apart, with many smaller specimens amongst the giants.

Soon, she was forced to follow game trails, rather than her previous nearly straight path. Rocks and underbrush impeding her flight, she kept to her northward track as best she could.  
Finally finding a small spring oozing from a cleft in the rock face she’d spent half the afternoon climbing, she was able to slake a burning thirst. She slept that night beneath an overhang about three-quarters of the way up.  


The warmth of early morning sun on her face woke her the third day. Half blinded by the direct rays, she nearly rolled off her ledge as she attempted to stretch before rising. Something was wrong, she wasn’t at all cold this morning; not hungry and felt shaky, weak. Nauseated when she stood and the world spun, *Lyliath realized she was fevered just as she suddenly bent and vomited over the cliff face.  


Great, now she’d left him a calling card. Couldn’t have been more obvious if she’d waved a red flag in his face. Could it have been the berries? Well, she wouldn’t eat any more no matter how hungry she got. Shivering, she turned and looked over the roof of the forest she’d just spent the last two days traversing.  


The morning air was so crystalline she could see the towers and spires of her former prison on their small rise between the sparkling ribbons of the twin rapids. As she stared, she got the strangest sensation that she was being watched. Hairs on the back of her neck standing, she shuddered in dread.  


They must have missed her by now. She had better keep moving. Regarding what was left of the cliff above her, she took a deep breath. Marking out what seemed the best way up, she climbed slowly and carefully.  


IV  


Having spent the better part of the last two nights working on the joint until his jaws ached; the big male was finally dozing when the doors at the far end of his prison slammed open. It was too early for the boy, so it could only mean one thing. A hunt!  


Crawling to the front of his cage, he crouched by the door. Eyes alight even in the gloom, he eagerly awaited release. It had been too long since he was able to stretch; he needed a good run.  


The Master of Hounds walked slowly down the aisle of his Lordship’s kennel, breathing shallowly to try and avoid inhaling too much of the stench of these animals. As he chose which of the pack he would hunt this day, he decided he would really have to say something to the prince about these conditions.  


It was necessary to treat them as animals he knew, but the filth was not needed. Not with these, the best hunters and trackers in the land. Cleaner meant healthier and that would keep them stronger and more focused on their tasks.  


As expected, the biggest male waited, eager but patient beside the door to his enclosure. The Master had felt himself under that molten stare from the moment he’d entered. He knew well this one’s abilities far outstripped any two of the others. But it made him nervous, knowing this beast had never broken.  


Yes, he bent to his Master’s will, but only because the beast himself chose to do so. Made him wonder what kind of monster the man had been before he’d crashed here. Even the Rykengoll were afraid of him, bunching together and muttering in their guttural tongue.  


He shuddered slightly and motioned his assistant to open the big one’s cage. Realizing as he did that his fear had been duly noted and catalogued. The beast’s eyes never left his face as he crab-walked out of the cage and stood. Stretching to his full 6’2” height, he rolled his massive shoulders and cracked his neck, sneering as the handlers and other hounds retreated a step or two.  


 _Damn, he is magnificent_ , the Master thought, even as he too, stepped back. Never failed to amaze with his size, menacing presence and feral grace. Almost as if he truly was an animal. A wild, very dangerous animal. One that wasn’t afraid of true humans, either. Or anything else that had ever been pitted against him. And he had the fastest kill times of anyone the Master had ever trained.  


Producing clothing from today’s quarry, the assistants walked the pieces past each of the trackers, allowing them to sniff the scent of their prey. When one reached the big male, he did something totally unexpected. Held out a hand and took a bodice from a handler. Shaking it out and holding it up in front of himself, he glared across at the Master and scowled.  


Tossing the material away, he squatted down and crawled back into his cage. Everyone was stunned into silent immobility for several seconds. Seeing an assistant raise his control, the Master stopped him with a hand on his arm.  


“Wait. I’m curious.” He walked over to the still open cage and leaned down. Peering in at the recalcitrant tracker’s scowling face, he asked “Why?” He nearly jumped in surprise when he got more than the beast’s usual snarl in answer.  


“Female.” The deep, raspy growl reverberated angrily.  


“So?” Shaking his head in negation, the beast refused to come out or answer.  


“Again, I ask why?” The Master was so intrigued; he’d nearly forgotten all caution, now down on one knee in front of the open door.  


“Don’t kill women.” Echoed from the back of the gloomy cage.  


“Really? You should be pleased, then. The prince wants her taken alive.” Shining in the dark with their own internal light, the tracker’s silver eyes pinned the Master, almost as shocking as his response.  


“I will hunt then. Alone.” It was more words than he’d heard at one time from this one in all the time he’d been here.  


“Well I’ll be switched!” The Master chuckled, torn between amusement and anger. He knew the prince would regret this one eventually. But he was so intrigued by the big tracker’s demand… for that is what it was; he thought… that he actually considered it.  


Standing, he turned to the nearest handler, remarking, “Send to his Highness for his opinion on his pet’s request. If he approves…”  


“Sir! You can’t be serious?” The man was so shocked, he actually interrupted.  


“Serious about what?” The silky, soft voice from the outer doorway instantly dropped everyone to their knees, trackers with their faces in the dirt.  


Mincing down the center of the aisle, Prince Ryngal approached the Master of his Hounds, question plain on his haughty face. Motioning the man to rise, he raised an elegant brow. “Well?”  


“One of your trackers has a request, my Lord.” The Master bowed. “It seems he refuses to hunt with the pack. Wishes this pursuit to be his alone.”  


Snorting in disbelief, the prince laughed. “Ridicu…” Then he realized whose cage he stood before. Though the door was open, his Furyan still squatted inside.  


“He spoke? Actual words?” He bent slightly to peer inside, being rewarded with a flash of silver and a deep, vibrating growl. Two assistants immediately stepped between the prince and the open door. The cage’s inmate just laughed. A harsh, barking cough that had very little humour in it. The prince straightened, looking to the Master who was nodding affirmatively.  


“Amazing! Is this true, my Furyan? You wish to do this pursuit on your own? No help?” Ryngal was so flabbergasted; he actually addressed the animal directly, as though he spoke to a true human. Thus he should not have been so stunned when he received a direct answer.  


“Yeah. Don’t need ‘em.” Eyes wide in astonishment, the prince turned his shocked countenance to the Master, reading equal surprise in his face. Taking a deep breath, he made a decision. One that he’d come to regret.  


“So be it, then.” Ignoring the expostulations of disbelief, denial and disapproval from his equally uncomprehending staff, he continued. “Prepare him. And hurry. We’re not sure how long she’s been gone. Maybe as long as three days.” Turning to leave, he threw over his shoulder, “And have someone clean this place up. It stinks in here.”  


“Yes, my Lord.” The Master straightened from his bow and _**felt**_ something wrong behind him. Rotating slowly on one heel, he ended up facing a wall of muscle. The big beast was standing right behind him, close enough to touch!  


He never moved, simply glaring down with those lazer eyes of his, a nasty half-sneer on his cold, closed face. The Master watched his nostrils flare and his pupils dilate, the slight sneer becoming a full, teeth-baring evil grin as the other scented the burst of fear-brought adrenaline that flooded his system.  


Swallowing hard, he instinctively dropped his eyes as he cautiously backed away from the much larger man. Realizing even as he did that it was a mistake; that he’d just lost whatever control he’d ever had over this one. Two more steps back, nearly out of reach, he snapped at his help.  


“Clean him up and feed him. You heard the prince. We must hurry.” He left with the sound of the Furyan’s soft, evil chuckle echoing down the aisle. Though he gave no outward sign, the Master felt his guts loosen and hated the beast the more for it.  


It was close to two full hours later that the hunting party finally left the castle walls. After everyone had gathered in the front courtyard in preparation, the tracker insisted on starting in Lady *Lyliath’s suite. He refused to allow anyone entry until he was finished, growling about confused scents. Finally turning from a window, he muttered a terse, “jumped”, as he stalked out.  


“That’s impossible!” The prince exclaimed. Receiving only a scowl in answer, he stated, “She’d be dead. The fall would break every bone in her body.”  


“Landed on something soft, then.” The beast growled over a shoulder. “What passes beneath this window? Early morning.” Still shocked by the Furyan’s speaking, it took several minutes conferring and questioning of staff to determine that three days past the garbage wagons had passed directly beneath.  


“Where?” Came the next barked demand.  


“Well, to the dump, of course.” The Master snapped.  


“Where…are…they…kept?” Was the sneered reply. So everyone trooped to the kitchen stables and waited unhappily while the big tracker examined each and every one. Finally, he straightened and pointed.  


“Driver?” That didn’t take so long, as the man bolted as soon as the question was posed. Chased down and drug back, beaten half unconscious, he was unceremoniously dumped at the Master’s feet. Who simply looked at the beast when it growled and stepped back away from his approach.  


Realizing he was about to be given to that huge, silver-eyed demon, the driver squealed in terror and curled into a quivering ball. The harsh whisper in his ear shocked him into silence.  


“Grow a set, man. Tell me when and where. I’ll make it quick and painless.”  


Outraged, the Master hissed, “It’s not your place to decide that, tracker!” Pinned by a hot blue-silver lazer stare, he inhaled sharply and shut up.  


“You want her, let me do my job.” He turned his molten regard back on the driver.  


“When, and where? I ain’t gonna ask again.” The big hunter scowled down on the weeping, gibbering fool.  


“Th…three d…days ago. The f…far side, near the f…forest. I, uh… I gave her my cloak.” Panting in terror, he whispered, “Please… p…please, don’t kill me.”  


“Oh, you’re gonna die. Me, or tortured t’ death by you prince’s ‘justices’. Choose.” The big tracker rumbled quietly. As the horrified man raised hopeless eyes to the big man, he smiled almost tenderly and nodded.  


“Thought so.” Reaching out slowly, he gently palmed both sides of the man’s head. With a lightning-fast jerk and twist, it was over. The crack of snapping vertebrae was loud enough to hear across the courtyard.  


What happened next so revolted the onlookers, it silenced any complaint. The big man stood, lifting the still twitching corpse by the head and with a snake-like strike, bit into its throat. People could see him sucking and swallowing as he wrapped strong, muscular arms around the body, holding it as close as a lover. Many fled, several even retching as they ran.  


Dropping the body like a rag doll, the big Furyan turned to the Master. “You heard him. Let’s go.” He licked the driver’s blood from his face and hands as he strode across to the outer gate. The only one seemingly unconcerned was the prince, who nodded his approval as his tracker passed.  


Running ahead of the mounted party, the big man reveled in his precious, if temporary freedom. He was actually enjoying being able to stretch himself. Warm summer sun on his back, the endorphin high of physical exercise, and a fresh, cool breeze in his face: this was about the best his current life ever got. He couldn’t wait to reach the trees and the sweet-scented shade they promised. That would be pure bliss. He ran faster.

V

It was just past noon by the time *Lyliath finally reached the apex of the rock wall. She shivered with fever, her limbs weak and now her gut was in knots. She had to find water soon and a place to empty her bowels before she shit herself like some pastured cow. Doubling over with another cramp, she breathed shallowly, hoping it would pass quickly. When it finally did and she could straighten, she glanced back over the wood.  


Horrified, she watched as a disturbed flock of crovens lifted from the trees near the beginning of the forest. Right where she’d entered. They sounded scared and angry. Only a big predator could elicit such a racket. Trackers? But the crovens were circling, screeching their rage as though it were a jagile or some other forest hunter. She had almost relaxed when she saw one spitted out of the air by an arrow.  


 _‘Oh, Ancestors!’_ She fretted. _‘They are tracking me! But only a single tracker? That can only mean one thing… the prince’s big silver-eyed demon. The one that never quits; never fails. I’m doomed!’_ Sobbing in fear, she fled down the far slope, pain and thirst forgotten.

VI

Two hours later, the tracker found her log, where she had slept the first night. Though he was anxious to push on, the prince insisted on rest and a meal. Everyone else was tired; even though all they had done was follow on their big, clumsy, noisy chargers while he did all the work.  


Food was always welcome, so he acquiesced. Grumpily, but not loudly. His only complaint was the fire, Prince Ryngal’s cook insisting he could not serve royalty a cold meal. If the tracker wished to murder him over it, so be it. Then he could try feeding the prince himself, the chubby little man sniped.  


“Don’t think he’d care for what I’ll eat.” Was the snarled reply. Snorting, the cook turned away. Only to be stopped by a large, hard-calloused paw descending on his shoulder. Gulping in fear, he froze, eyes bugged. The big tracker simply brushed past, murmuring, “I’ll start the fire.”  


Everyone watched in amazement as the man looked up to check the canopy and finding a spot to his liking, cleared leaf-litter, dug a shallow pit, lined it with small stones, collected brush, twigs, wood and had a nearly smokeless fire crackling in under fifteen minutes. He raised the cook’s spit, centered over the almost colourless flames and straightened, brushing his hands against each other.  


Glancing at his speechless audience in amusement, he growled at the cook, “So? Cook already.” Then he turned away and vanished silently into the trees.  


Guffawing in amazement as much as at the confused expression on the cook’s face, the prince doubled up with laughter. The cook, meanwhile, completely nonplussed, frowned at the Master and whined.  


“I thought you said he was just a tracker; not a huntsman?”  


Scowling back, the master returned, “So I was given to train him as.”  


Pointing a fat finger, “Well, _**that is a huntsman’s fire.**_ And a damned perfect one, I must say.” The cook snapped. “You’re wasting him as a tracker, I think.”  


“Since when does your opinion on what uses the prince puts his possessions to matter? Although I do agree, our big surly friend over there does seem to have several talents we’ve been unaware of. I wonder what other knowledge he possesses that we know nothing about?” The master stared thoughtfully in the direction that the big man had so silently disappeared. 

They were becoming anxious when more than a half hour passed and he had not returned. Ryngal and the Master were discussing whether or not to call him back with the collar, when he suddenly appeared between the trees, a brace of bracken hens in one hand and a pair of forest hoppers in the other. All of which had been neatly gutted and drained.  


He calmly walked to the fire, draping the hens over one outside point of the transverse rod and the hoppers over the other. Snagging an empty bowl from the stunned cook’s hand, he emptied several different herbs, fungi and rootlets into it.  


“There ya go. Now, ya got something worth cookin’.” As the little man just stood there gaping, he grinned lop-sided and snapped his fingers under the man’s nose.  


“I…I… My Lord, these will make excellent fare. The hoppers appear young and tender; the hens fat and juicy. And these herbs, Ancestors, where did you find them? And how did you know what to look for?”  


“Smelled good.” The big man shrugged, walking to the far side of the fire and dropping straight down cross-legged, to sit relaxing in the heat, his eyes closed.  


“Well, Artuis? Let’s see what you can do with this unexpected bounty.” The prince waved a negligent hand toward the chef, more interested in watching his Furyan. He noted that even though the man’s argent eyes were closed, he was still totally alert. Nostrils occasionally flaring, his eyes rolled under the closed lids, an intense listening expression on his face.  


“Furyan.” Ryngal spoke softly, barely above a whisper, but the man’s eyes were open and blazing into his face before he finished uttering the single word. He only raised one brow to acknowledge the prince had spoken. Staring back, he never blinked or moved another muscle.  


Frowning, the prince fingered the control device in his pocket, but the Furyan had really done nothing wrong. His behaviour was no more defiant than usual, and he had responded in his own way.  


“Who in all the hells were you? Before… here? What was your name, tracker?” He whispered.  


The man, ( _and just when had he begun to think of that vicious animal as a man?_ ), frowned, cocking his head to one side as he considered the prince’s questions.  


“Can’t remember. Nobody nice.”

“Why? What makes you say that?”

“I know things. Stuff your ‘Master’ didn’t train me for. Like this.” The big man whipped one of the bone fragment shivs he’d made out of concealment and held it up for the prince’s inspection. Gasping as he realized the creature was less than six feet away and armed, the prince breathed,  


“Where did you get that?”  


Rolling the blade over and around his hand and wrist, spinning it like a top on his open palm, the prince’s favorite tracker shrugged and murmured quietly. “Made it.” Then he calmly shoved it back into the waistband of his pants.

“You made it? How, when, where?”

“Coupla days ago. Blade’s bone, haft’s wood. Wrapped strips of my shirt around it.”

“You…you’ve been armed for days? The prince gulped. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Where would I go? ‘Sides, I was locked in a cage.”

“And now?”

“I’m hunting.” The silver eyes blazed with their own blue fire, no longer reflecting golden firelight.

“You would rather hunt than try for your freedom?” The prince was amazed, again. He’d heard the stories of this man’s people; how primal they were and single-minded when they ‘worked’. Their heightened senses, physical prowess and endurance were obvious in this specimen, but he’d never really believed the rest of it.

“I am free when I hunt.” The deep rasp vibrated across the clearing.

“Ah. I think I understand.” The prince sighed, remembering younger days when he had been able to roam the forest, tracking prey, the thrill of the hunt, the fierce pride he’d felt after his first kill.

“I doubt it.” The Furyan sneered back, closing his eyes again and effectively ending the conversation. “Eat your lunch. We move when you’re done.” 

Snapping his head left as the Furyan’s slitted eyes flicked to the right, the prince realized his cook stood frozen beside him with a plate of delicious smelling bird en croute. Accepting it, he asked, “You have more?”

Bowing, the cook quavered, “Yes, of course, my Lord.” There is enough for all your men.”

“And my tracker?”

“Uh, if you wish my Lord, I’m sure I can find some scraps for him.”

“Scraps! After he provided us with this feast?” The cook couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It made as much sense as if the prince had asked him to prepare a fancy, sugar-coated compote for his favorite mount.

“S’alright, your Highness. I already ate.” The lazily voiced, deep toned comment was followed by a nasty chuckle.

“You what?” Ryngal was aghast at the man’s cheek. He’d wandered off on his own, with no direction, eaten before returning, and had the balls to sit there before the fire, basking in the heat with his eyes closed as if he was running this hunt. And he’d had no qualms about showing the prince that he’d managed to arm himself as well.

The prince was having quite a bit of difficulty comprehending the change in his tracker. It was as though, out here in the wild, he had become a completely different animal. Still subtly defiant, he was no longer sullen about it, acting like he was as good… no, better… than any of his true human masters.

Looking at the fire, wondering if it could possibly be true, the prince decided he’d better try to exert some control. So more haughtily than he’d intended, he proclaimed, “We will continue when I’m ready, tracker.”

“You want to catch this woman? She reaches the next valley, she’s gone.” He sounded as if it didn’t matter to him whether they did or not. The prince frowned in disbelief of his assessment.

“Impossible, tracker. She’s a lady, not some forest-born peasant. What could she know of surviving in the deep wood? I expect only to find her body, sometime soon.” 

“Done a pretty good job of hidin’ her track, so far. Even if she is hurt.” Came the laconic reply.

“How could you know that? I’ve seen no blood.” The Master, having overheard most of this conversation, and not pleased by the changes he’d noted in the big tracker, attempted to gain some control by posing an unanswerable question.

Snorting in disgust, the tracker stared at the prince as he answered; making it obvious he didn’t think the Master was worth the effort. “Track’s uneven. More weight on one side. She’s favoring, could be an internal injury. Wouldn’t see blood. Smelled her pain.”

VII  
Slowing from her panicked bolt, the tiny, raven-haired beauty paused to catch her breath. Immediately slammed double by another stabbing, agonizing cramp, she whimpered, realizing she could go no further. Looking around, she spotted a large, flattish rock near a huge broadleaf and decided it would have to do. 

Hobbling over, she brushed the leaves between boulder and tree aside. Leaning back against the tree, she removed her leggings, squatting over the bare patch of ground. Lifting the long tails of her tabard, she relaxed as much as she could when the next cramp struck.

She came to not long after, her forehead resting against the cool, lichen-covered stone. Though her abdomen was sore, the muscles protesting being so violently overworked, she no longer felt sick from the gut-wrenching pain she’d experienced earlier. Using a handful of leaves and as much spit as she could muster, she cleaned herself up as best she could. Slipping her leggings back on, she buried the stinking mess under a pile of leaf litter.

As *Lyliath straightened from her task, she realized she was exhausted. She hoped she’d be able to continue far enough to find a place to sleep. Sighing in defeat, disgusted by her body’s betrayal, she trudged on down slope. 

The game trail she was following crossed a tiny rill where she drank and washed. She sipped slowly, filling her stomach carefully… too much cold too fast and she might vomit again. Though she shivered from the icy liquid, her insides didn’t protest too much; just felt sore now.

Gazing blankly across the stream, she suddenly noticed she was staring at a stand of the forest giants. One had partially fallen, the massive trunk canted on a shallow angle, its huge limbs cradled by several other trees. Thinking she might find a safe spot to rest there, she rose and cautiously approached.

Well, she wasn’t going to be able to use the hole beneath the torn out roots. It seemed some forest denizen had claimed that spot. The burrow’s entrance was clearly framed by a mound of dirt excavated by some very busy paws. Sighing, she looked up along the downed trunk.

Nearly two-thirds of the way to the crown there was a small projection of several branches fanning out like a cupped hand. If she could make it that far without falling, it would be perfect. Taking a quick deep breath, she steeled herself for the climb. Muttering to herself, “You’re a monkel, you’re a monkel.” She inched up the tree.

VIII

Chasing the Furyan all afternoon, his trail sure and swift, the hunt finally caught up to him just before sundown. He had run ahead of them the entire time, barely slowing to check various spots along the quarry’s track. When she had switched to game trails, rather than cutting directly across the forest floor, he’d moved even faster. 

The prince, though just as eager to find the woman, had actually tried to call him back twice. He was angered, but not surprised to see the big Furyan hunch his shoulders and shake his head, growling as he ignored the sting of his collar. Having completely lost sight of the beast in the long shadows, he was preparing to use it again at a higher setting, when the Master pointed ahead.

“My Lord!” Following the direction of the man’s extended arm, Ryngal could see a sixty foot rock face a short distance in front of him. His tracker was more than half way up it and still climbing. Reining his mount to a standstill, the prince shook his head in denial.

“He’s got to be kidding? She went up that?” Watching the big Furyan swing onto a ledge and remain there for several moments, sniffing and touching various spots, he grew curious. Moving closer to the base of the cliff, the prince looked up and called softly, “Furyan, what have you found?”

Leaning out over the edge, the large, heavily-muscled man replied clearly, but just as quietly. “Slept here last night. Went over the top around noon. Won’t be long now.” Ryngal could see the mercury gleam of his eyes turn blue in excitement as he uttered the last statement.

“Wait, Furyan. We cannot follow with the horses. Can you see a way around?” 

Standing, his back to the cliff face, the big man looked first right and then to his left. Looking down again, he reported on what he could see. “Cliff ends ‘bout a half klick that way. Steep slope. Hear rapids. I’d go this way.” He waved to his left. “Longer, but safe. Slope runs up to the top in ‘bout a klick an’ a half.”

Glancing at each other in confusion, the prince and Master voiced the same question together. “What’s a klick?” 

Turning back from starting his remaining climb, the big tracker scowled down on them, calculating distances in his head. “Uh… ‘bout two-thirds of your ‘mile’. Not quite.” 

“Is this ‘klick’ a normal measure on your home world?’ The Master wanted to know.

Rubbing his head as he pondered, the big man finally sighed into an annoyed grunt.

“Can’t remember ever being there. It’s a standard on all Alliance worlds. But I’m more familiar with AUs and light-years.”

“Those are measurements of space. Distances between suns and planets, are they not?” The prince somewhat proudly asked, displaying his worldly knowledge to the others who still looked confused.

“Yeah. Guess I spent a lotta time there.” Ending the conversation by returning to his climb, the tracker spidered up the cliff face easily. 

The distance that had taken *Lyliath all morning to surmount, he covered in less than half an hour. Resting for a few moments at the crest, he wondered why he had agreed to this hunt. Somewhere in the scrambled mess of his memory, he knew he had protected, fought for females. This felt wrong; he knew she would be killed or enslaved, (even if they called it marriage), when he finally caught her for them. 

Shaking his head with an angry snarl, he rose from his crouch. He had at least an hour before the rest caught up to him. He should find a place to camp for the night. Soon it would be too dark for the others to see. The thought made him smile.

When the rest of the hunting party finally crested the ridge, they spent a good half hour back-tracking along the top of the cliff to where they’d last seen the Furyan. He had left them obvious sign as to the direction he’d taken, so the Master turned them down the trail he had marked out for them.

It was nearly full dark by the time the rest of the party found the camp the prince’s tracker had set up. They had had to dismount and lead their steeds, everyone including the horses stumbling along in the dark. Master in the lead, the prince right behind, the troop finally found their way to the small clearing.

Fire already burning in a pit in the center, there was a neat stack of fuel logs to one side, a large trunk rolled near the other for seating. A wide broadleaf at the far edge of the clearing had more hoppers hanging from a branch about ten feet up. There was no sign of the Furyan.

Handing off his mount, the prince stood in the center of the perfectly laid out camp and shook his head. The Master looked questioningly at him. “I begin to think Artuis had the right of it, Can*ly. He is a huntsman. Wasted as just a tracker.” 

When the Master raised his brows, dismayed and surprised, the prince swept an arm around him. “Look at this, man. My Furyan is much more that just a beautiful killing machine. He is the perfect survivalist.”

Stretched out on a large limb almost directly over the prince’s head, the big man shuddered in angry reaction to Ryngal’s statement. Repressing a growl with difficulty, his eyes flashed, a disjointed memory suddenly coming clear for a moment.

He saw himself in a large, sunken-floored room. Facing a helmeted, armour-wearing soldier, surrounded by many more, he clearly heard himself saying, “I bow to no man.” He could feel the haft of a large knife clenched in his left fist, the long, decorative blade lying along his forearm. And he wore some sort of protection over his so sensitive eyes.

The memory faded as he heard the Master’s gasp. Looking down, he sneered at the fear he could see reflected in the man’s face and smell wafting to his sensitive nose on the column of warm air from his fire. Moving slowly, Prince Ryngal turned a quarter circle and looked up over his shoulder. Staring into glowing silver-blue eyes, he could just barely make out the powerful form lying full length behind and above him. Seeing the beast smile toothily, he decided it best not to react.

“Ah, so there you are, Furyan. Will you come down and join us for dinner, or have you already eaten again?” He tried to keep his question light, no discernable sarcasm in his voice, just to be safe.

Responding with only a chuckle/growl, the big man rolled off the limb and dropped straight down, landing silently right at the prince’s back. Straightening, he frowned at the Master who had gasped and instinctively taken a death grip on his collar control. 

Stepping calmly around the prince, he strode to where he’d hung the hoppers. Glancing at the frozen pair, he suddenly leapt straight up and neatly plucked the string of small bodies from their temporary larder. Passing behind the Master, who spun to face him, he sauntered across the clearing to deposit his catch at Cook’s feet. Almost coyly peeking over his shoulder at the prince, he smiled slightly. “I could eat.” Rumbled from his massive chest, a deep gravelly purr of superiority following. Again sitting cross-legged before the fire, he closed his eyes and sighed contentedly, basking in the heat.

Watching him move and relax before the flames, the prince was reminded of a large feline predator his father had kept for a time when he was a child. A consummate huntsman himself, his father had truly loved the big cat. He took Ryngal with him when he had released the beast back into the wild.  


When his confused son had looked up into his father’s teary-eyed, grief-stricken face and asked why, the man smiled sadly down at his son. “Because he is a wild creature, Ryn. As much as I love him, I can never trust him. He will do as he wishes, no matter what punishment or reward I mete out. And if I ever did manage to break his spirit, it would kill him. He needs to be free, as much as he needs the air to breathe. It’s just his nature. I love him enough to recognize that… and let him go.”

For some reason he could not explain, the prince suddenly understood what his father had meant more clearly than he ever had. Swallowing hard over the strange lump in his throat, he crossed to the fire. Sinking onto the trunk beside his… no the man had never truly been his… Furyan.

Though he did not open his eyes, the big tracker acknowledged his presence by turning his head slightly toward Ryngal. Inhaling deeply, he frowned at the mélange of emotions he picked up from the man he knew was staring at him. Pride, desire, sadness, love, grief; it made no sense to him. He finished the turn and opened mercury eyes to study the lilac ones solemnly regarding him.

Sighing lightly, the prince gazed back and murmured, “What am I to do with you, Furyan?” He reached out slowly, tentatively, to lay his hand gently on the other’s shoulder, allowing his fingers to trail down the sculptured muscles of the man’s arm; a human version of stroking a favored pet.

Though his muscles shivered at the touch, the man never moved, only his nostrils flaring repeatedly as he continued to scowl at the source of all pleasure and pain in his current life. He was confused, therefore upset and angered by this strange behaviour. 

Suddenly snorting like a startled horse, he leapt to his feet and moved out of reach. Crouching beside the flames, one hand braced on the ground before him, he glared at the prince, quivering on the verge of flight. Obviously torn between fleeing and fearing the pain of punishment if he did, the tracker breathed deeply and rapidly.

“Relax, m… Furyan. I have no wish to hurt you.” The prince spoke softly, showing the big beast both his empty hands. Cocking his head to the side, the man suddenly snapped it to his right, his lazer stare on the approaching Master.

Hunched slightly, muscles bunched and quivering, Ryngal could easily see the Furyan was poised to either flee or attack. Knowing how fast he could move, he slowly raised one arm to the Master, palm forward.  
“Stop there, Can*ly. Please; he’s been spooked enough.”

“My Lord? Don’t let him intimidate you. He’ll become completely uncontrollable. You will be forced to put him down.” The Master spoke calmly, but his voice vibrated with tension. He obviously had misinterpreted the scene playing out before him. And he misjudged the beast… again.

“I frightened him, Can*ly. Just back away, so he can calm down. I’m alright. He’s not going to attack. Are you, Furyan?”

The prince’s soft, soothing tones held none of their usual arrogance, allowing the big man to relax slightly, though he remained alert. He dropped from his tense crouch to one knee, his forearms resting on the still upraised one. He continued to watch the prince speculatively, confusion plain on his cold, scowling visage. 

Deciding the best way to defuse the situation was to completely change the subject; the prince gave his tracker something else to think about. “How far ahead of us is *Lyliath?”

“Moving slow now. Sick. Tomorrow morning.” He growled, after a moment. Then he murmured, “*Lyliath. So that’s her name.”

“Yes, Lady *Lyliath Rynsil. What did you mean, ‘sick’?”

“Ate some bad fruit. Fucked up her guts. She related?”

Concerned, the prince spoke more sharply. “Is she poisoned? Will she recover?” As an afterthought, he added, “Yes, she’s my cousin.”

“Yeah, if she don’t dehydrate. Just gave ‘er the shits. Found where she crapped. She’s weak, won’t get far.” A pause. “Ya gonna kill ‘er?” The big man’s fierce growl and lazer stare told the prince he obviously did not approve.

“I have no choice. She’s committed treason.” He sighed unhappily. “Believe me, Furyan. If there were some other way…” Sighing again, he shook his head in defeat.

Rising to his full height, the man the prince had once thought of as ‘his’, stood before him, frowning thoughtfully. Turning on one heel, he stalked close to the broadleaf with the overhanging bough. As he reached a spot directly beneath, he tossed back over a shoulder, “Give ‘er t’ me.” Leaping straight up, he caught hold of the wide branch and swung easily onto it. Stretching out again, he glared down, the firelight reflecting coldly in his mercury eyes.

“Uh, I… I thought you said you wouldn’t kill a woman?” The prince stuttered, swallowing hard. Watching the Furyan gracefully, effortlessly jump into the tree, he was reminded again of Ripper, his father’s hunting cat.

“Not gonna.” Floated down from that unblinking argent gaze.

Confused, the prince frowned up at the silver-eyed demon stretched out over his head. Almost afraid to know the answer, he quietly asked, “What do you mean? What would you do with her?”

“Don’t know yet. Mebbe keep her…here.” The soft, thoughtful growl came from the dark form above.

Listening in from the far end of the downed trunk, the Master had a feeling he wouldn’t like where this conversation, _(Gods and Ancestors, the prince was actually talking with that beast as if it were truly human!)_ ‘Ancestors!’ He thought in distress, _‘What can he be thinking? Allowing that animal to run free, giving it permission to hunt alone, practically direct this hunt, and now… speaking with it as if it were an equal; a true human!’_  


The Master really wondered what was going through Ryngal’s mind. He had always behaved strangely around this one, inordinately proud and indulgent; but now, this was just too much. He was actually glad there were no other trackers present to witness this unusual behaviour. 

He must speak with him. Now, before things deteriorated further. And away from the very sensitive hearing of the tracker. Handing his empty plate to a passing helper, he leaned toward the prince and quietly spoke.  
“My Lord? Might I ask your opinion on something?” Knowing how involved the prince was with all his stock, the Master figured to draw him away from his pet.

“I fear one of the mounts may be going lame. Would you wish to check him before I make a decision?”

Looking a question, the prince turned to him; this wasn’t the sort of thing Can*ly normally asked him. The man said nothing, a pleasant, waiting expression on his face, but he flicked his eyes up twice to the bough overhead. _Aha! This has nothing to do with horses, then._ The prince surmised the Master was concerned with the Furyan’s unusual behaviour and probably his reactions as well. Not really in the mood for a lecture on how to control his own creature, the prince sighed. He knew he’d have no peace from the man until he’d delivered his opinion.

“Very well, Can*ly. But let’s make it quick, shall we? I’m tired. I want to rest. No doubt my Ripper will have us up early, eager to finish this.” 

At the man’s bugged out eyes and horrified expression, mouth round in shock, the prince raised a hand to his lips as he stood. Afraid to look above, he swallowed. _Why in all the God’s names did I say that?_ He fretted. It was one thing to compare the tracker to the big cat in his mind; but he had just named it aloud. There was only silence from above.

Taking a deep breath, hoping perhaps the beast hadn’t realized what he’d just inadvertently done, the prince crossed the clearing with his Master, discussing horses as they went. Of course, Can*ly was nearly hysterical by the time they reached where the remuda was staked out. As they moved through the big, sleepy mounts, he firmly proceeded to explain to Ryngal what he was doing wrong and why it could only end in disaster.

“If you continue to treat that animal as though it was human, it’s going to begin thinking it really is. Then you’ll lose control and the Gods only know what will happen. You and I both know what he’s capable of…and how fast he is. He could easily injure or kill several of us before being stunned senseless. He’s tough; believe me you have no idea how tough.” Straightening from where he’d been bent over, running his hands over a mount’s foreleg, the Master scowled at Ryngal. “My Lord?”

When the prince only nodded absently, Can*ly asked, “What made you call him ‘Ripper’? That was the name of your father’s cat, was it not?”

“Yes. He reminds me of him. I don’t know why.” The prince leaned against the warm side of the horse. It was cold here, away from the fire. 

“Oh, but I do, your Highness.” When the prince nodded for him to go on, the Master continued. “He has the same slinky, no wasted motion grace as the big cats. Like they have eyes in their feet. And he’s so fast. No hesitation…so single-minded. That intense concentration, whether hunting or staring you down; he’s an arrogant bastard. 

“Just like a big cat. And those eyes…he looks right through your soul. I can completely understand why the handlers call him a demon. No matter how much you punish him, if he doesn’t want to do something, he won’t. You can drive him unconscious first. Or he’ll keep doing something he wants, no matter how many times he’s reprimanded. It’s not that he’s stupid… he just gets sneakier about it.” 

The Master frowned at the prince’s slight smile. “He’s cleaner that the others, too. Actually enjoys a bath. I’ve seen him after a kill…cleaning himself like a cat. Pretty spooky. Have you ever watched when he catches someone?” 

Shuddering, the Prince nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen him play with his victims. But only the biggest, strongest ones. As if he enjoys the challenge.”

“Well, you must remember one very important thing, my Lord. He is not a cat. If you continue on treating him like a cross between one and a human, he’s going to turn on you. He’s too intelligent to set free, like your father’s cat. This one will come back for revenge. His kind are known for it. Why do you think they were driven out of galactic society and nearly exterminated?”

“I can’t put him down, Can*ly. I couldn’t stand that. And what a waste it would be.” The prince sighed unhappily. When the Master made a face of disapproval, he said again, "I just can’t. And I won’t have you taking matters into your own hands, either. I need to think about this. You leave him to me. Understand?” His fierce whisper, hand clamped on the Master’s arm, made his wishes very clear.

“Yes, my Lord. Of course.” Can*ly dropped to one knee, head bowed. But he was already thinking of ways that the Furyan could be made to have an ‘accident’.

Scowl deepening as he mulled over the conversation he’d just overheard, the big Furyan tracker changed position slightly to be more comfortable. He hadn’t planned on spending the night up here, but after listening to the Master’s little tirade, he decided it was the safest place for him. 

_I’ll have to watch that little bastard; he’s sneaky. Not above going behind the prince’s back if he thought he was right. And Ryngal, what’s up with him? Acting strange this trip. I’ve pushed him harder than I ever have on this hunt…and nothing. Haven’t been really punished once, even though he’s thought about it. The man’s actually talking, asked my opinion. And he gave me a NAME. What was it? Sounded familiar, comfortable. ‘Ripper’, that was it. Fits me._ The big man thought with a sigh, closed his mercury eyes and slept.

IX

*Lyliath slept the afternoon away, waking just at dusk. Furious with herself for the wasted daylight, she carefully slid down the trunk and returned to the stream to drink. _‘Now what?_ She knew she couldn’t travel far. Might not find another safe place to rest. _I’ll just have to wake early and move faster tomorrow._

Inhaling more deeply than she intended, she realized the pain in her side was beginning to subside slightly. The sharp, stabbing burn was easing, though her ribs still throbbed fiercely when she inhaled too deeply or twisted too far. But mostly she just felt a tolerable dull ache now. As long as she remembered to be careful. She walked silently back to her tree and climbed back up to her nest.

Waking to the sounds of early morning birds, the little raven-haired woman stretched slowly. It was pre-dawn dark; that pregnant time of day when anything seemed possible, the world holding its breath, watching and waiting. 

_‘Something is watching me.’_ *Lyliath sat up, looking around carefully. She gazed over her back trail, finding nothing. Her fear began to subside as she continued to search in every direction without finding anything. Finally, she decided she’d better get moving. Stepping out of the cup of branches, she began to back down the trunk again, slowly and carefully.

A sudden urge to look overhead made her pause. She needed to concentrate on what she was doing now. It grew stronger, and she gave in. 

Nearly shrieking in shock, terror froze her in place. It was the only thing that saved her from falling. The largest jagile she’d ever seen crouched above her, its large green, reflective eyes staring unblinking at her. The big cat licked its chops and growled.

Shivering in fear, *Lyliath tried hard not to panic, hyperventilating as she thought furiously how to escape. Still staring at the feline, she sobbed quietly when she realized there was nothing she could do, no way to get away.

“Just don’t run.” The softly-voiced, deep, raspy grumble from…where? She couldn’t place it; would have shocked her if she hadn’t already had enough adrenaline for three people pumping through her veins. The cat turned its head, ears flicking, trying to locate the source of the sound. When it hissed toward her nest, she followed its glare and nearly panicked again.

Standing calmly on the far side, a hand out to hold a branch at each shoulder, the prince’s big, silver-eyed demon stood staring back. Totally relaxed, one side of his full-lipped mouth curled up in a fang-baring sneer, he tipped his head to one side as he examined her.

 _Cocky bastard._ Instantly flashed through *Lyliath’s mind. She recognized that look, as any woman would. _He’s not even worried about the jagile._ Something must have shown in her face as the half-sneer slowly turned into the full, evil smile she’d seen in the past, just before he killed. 

Eyes wide, she gasped at the same time that the cat hissed again. The tracker’s head rotated to stare at the cat again, a smooth almost mechanical-seeming movement. When the jagile slashed its tail, the big beast’s eyes suddenly flashed with silver-blue fire and he growled threateningly. The deep vibrato echoed right through *Lyliath, making her quiver in reaction.

He stepped through the nest, blades appearing from nowhere in each hand. Apparently that was too much for the cat; it screamed in anger and fled. They heard it yowl again from a good distance off.

The tiny woman closed her violet eyes, laying her cheek against the rough bark of the tree she clung to. She shuddered, waiting, not wanting to see the death blow she knew was coming.

His deep voice purred into her ear, breath stirring her hair. “Relax, Beautiful. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.” She gasped, too terrified to open her eyes or even comprehend his words. Shivering again as she felt him gently brush her hair back from her face and neck, she whimpered like a lost child. She could hear him sniffing, scenting her. 

He sighed, frustrated. “*Lyliath; look at me.” Quaking in horror, she could only obey. Lifting fear-filled eyes, she stared up into surprisingly sad-looking silver orbs. His face wore a confused frown, a pained expression making him seem almost human. Suddenly, it registered in her terror soaked brain. He was speaking to her…like any normal man!

Violet eyes wide in new shock, she whispered, "You spoke!”

The arrogant, cold sneer instantly back, he responded, “Yeah. So?”

“I didn’t know… never realized…” She stuttered, stunned. “I never heard you speak before.”  
“No reason to.” He growled, frowning.

“Ohh.” She breathed, not believing what was happening. He backed up slightly, pulling her with him into her nest.

“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered at his beautifully muscled torso. She could only take those fierce eyes a few seconds at a time. Glancing up, she was surprised to see he now seemed amused, though the scowl remained. 

Crouching before her, burly arms relaxed to the outside of his sculpted thighs, fingers loosely curled, she was reminded of the dark, stone-carved gargoyles guarding the four points of the compass from the castle roof. All he needed was a pair of wings.

“No time for chit-chat. Stay here. Don’t move. No noise.” The big man rose to stand looming over her. 

*Lyliath sucked in a startled breath, staring up at the tracker. He was huge; massive compared not only to true humans, but also the rest of the prince’s pack. Beautifully built, with golden tan skin, those unique eyes, and he moved with the same feline grace as the jagile he’d just frightened off.

“Wha...wha...what?” She mumbled, totally confused. 

“Stay put. Be quiet.” He repeated in a low, annoyed growl.

“Why?” She whispered, not understanding.

“Rrnnn.” The deep growl as he stepped around her froze her in place again. When he suddenly reached down and slashed a section off the sleeve of her cloak, she would have screamed. Except that she couldn’t, due to the large, hard hand covering half her face.

“You wanna get caught?” He snarled. Gazing up into that silver-blue lazer stare, she shook her head no.

“Then do as I say.” He frowned. Removing his hand, he vanished down the trunk as swiftly and silently as a ghost.

Curling up in the center of the branches, trying to catch her breath and calm her pounding heart, *Lyliath wrapped her cloak around herself and settled herself as comfortably as she could. She had a feeling she might be here a while. She could hear a quiet scuffling below her and the occasional snap of a small twig, but the sounds were becoming fainter; moving away? She let her head fall back against a limb and sighed. Might as well rest while she could.

X

Cook woke early to the sensation of something tickling his ear. Swatting at whatever nasty bug was annoying him, his eyes snapped open when his hand hit something much more solid. When he saw the face whose cheek he had just smacked, he wished he hadn’t woken.

Perhaps he was still having a nightmare? He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and opened them again. The big tracker was still there, crouching over him, a nasty sneer on his cold face.

“Java,” he snarled quietly. Demanding, not asking. He rose smoothly, and stalked away. 

Cook watched him move silently around the camp, waking each handler quietly. The Master snorted in shock when his turn came. The big beast was becoming surer of himself, more arrogant every day. He sat up, reaching for his control when the Furyan headed for the prince’s tent.

“Tracker,” Can*ly hissed. “No.” Barely hesitating, the animal ignored him. He reached for the door flap, obviously intending to enter, so the Master did as he thought he must and pressed the stud to activate the control.

He watched the big male’s shoulders bunch and he twisted his head in pain, drawing his chin down as he fought against the device. He did stop moving forward, exhaling sharply, but only for a moment. As he lifted a foot to take another step, Can*ly shook his own head and sighed. Raising the power level, he pressed the control again.

Shuddering, nerves on fire, the Furyan grunted in agony and dropped to his knees, growling fiercely. He still held the tent flap in one hand, the other fisted on the ground before him, supporting his weight. His head fell forward as he trembled with the punishment, panting heavily.

The prince, still disheveled from sleep, appeared in the opening. Whipping back the other half of the door flap, he frowned down at the man shivering in torment before him, his muscles writhing under the skin from the collar’s assault.

Grunting and gasping, the tracker refused to cry out; though it was obvious he was racked with pain. Sweat poured off him, dripping onto his fists that clutched handfuls of leaf litter before his bowed head. His face was twisted in anguish; eyes screwed shut, teeth bared in a snarled rictus of agony.

“Can*ly! Stop this now!” Sharp with anger, the prince’s voice rang across the camp as he glared at his Hound Master. “What do you think you’re doing?” Dropping to his own knees, Ryngal grasped the tracker by both powerful shoulders as the man swayed, almost falling in release from torture.

“My Lord! He ignored me, refused to stop. I was afraid he would harm you.” The master attempted to explain. The thunderous look on his prince’s features did not promise acceptance or approval, he feared.

Before either could draw breath for further comment, the big Furyan suddenly lunged forward. Knocking the prince flat on his back, he straddled the smaller, slighter man’s body. One forearm across the prince’s throat, his other pressed a blade to the side, right under Ryngal’s jaw.

Eyes blazing in fury, he quietly, but in a tone that carried clearly throughout the camp, snarled at Ryngal. “No more. This stops now. Free me or end it.”

Frozen in shock, no one moved for several moments. The Master knew he dare not trigger the collar again. Even if he set it at full power, which would totally fry the beast’s nerves, killing him instantly, his death throes could easily cause that slim, very sharp blade to penetrate the prince’s neck. And the animal held it poised right over his jugular.

“My Lord?” Can*ly whispered, horrified by what he’d caused. “What should I do?” He’d feared all along the beast would turn on his master; had tried to warn the prince.

“Just stay back, man. Throw your control over here.” The prince choked out.

“My prince? You can’t be serious?”

“Now, Can*ly.” He spoke more firmly. Over the low growl of his attacker. Who so far, wasn’t moving. Ryngal could not look at the man’s face, his eyes so fierce, glowing silver-purple with so much pent-up rage and hate. Hatred of him?

Hearing the Master’s control hit the dirt near him; the Furyan flicked his eyes to the side and growled again. Glancing toward the big man pinning him down, the prince realized that blue glow came from more than his eyes. Afraid to turn his head more than an inch, he was still able to discover the source…a blue hand-print on the man’s right pectoral. 

Realizing the import, Ryngal sucked in a sharp gasp. _Ancestors!_ He thought. “Alpha male.” When the Furyan’s eyes brightened, the tiny muscles around them tightening, he realized he’d spoken aloud. Why had he not seen this before? No wonder the tracker was so defiant, so hard to control.

“You haven’t answered me.” The big man ground out, softly.

“I don’t understand, Furyan. What do you want?”

“Yes, you do. Free me…or ghost me. That’s what I’d do to you.” The big man cocked his head to one side. 

“If I set you free, you’d not come back and kill me?”

Growling, he replied, “maybe not you.” As the intention of his words sank in, the prince gasped quietly. It was a real effort not to glance over at his Master. Who shuddered in fear, knowing he was now vulnerable.

“What of Lady *Lyliath?” The prince tried to distract the big man leaning on his throat. He was choking from the pressure of that muscular forearm, unable to draw a full breath.  
Unrelenting, the big tracker sneered down, “Gone. Jagile.” 

“Damn! You’re sure?”

Scowling in disgust, the man the prince had begun to think of as Ripper snarled. “Why doesn’t anybody ever listen to me? Found spoor this morning. And this.” He dragged the piece of cloak from a pocket.

“Ah, Gods!” When the prince exclaimed in obvious sorrow, the Furyan leaned back, releasing him and stood. 

“You care about her?”

Sitting up slowly, Ryngal gently massaged his throat. Bringing his fingers away sticky, his glanced down to see blood on them. Raising his eyes back to the big man, he shuddered to see him cleaning his blade by licking the blood, his blood, off it carefully.

Swallowing hard, revolted and fascinated both, he answered quietly. “Yes, very much. We grew up together. If things had been different…” When the beast tipped its head to the side, brow lifted curiously, the prince finished, “I would have married her, Furyan. I love her.

Suddenly sheathing his blade, the big man reached down and hauled the prince to his feet. Snorting in derision, he rumbled, “You’re a fool, then. She’d destroy you.”

“I’d risk it.” Both the Furyan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Haven’t you ever loved someone? Just wanted to be near them, see them happy…no matter the cost to you?”

“I…” Flashes of memory, disjointed scenes from his past bursting into his mind’s eye and vanishing as quickly, confused the big man. Shaking his head to clear it, he raised one hand to his temple, groaning.

“You remember something? Someone?” Ryngal asked gently. Surprised, he watched as several emotions flitted over the Furyan’s features. Anger, amusement, desire, pride, rage and deep pain… the pain of love lost were written there, the last even bringing moisture to the man’s eyes so that he blinked rapidly several times.

Taking a deep shuddering breath, he sighed sorrowfully, “Doesn’t matter. Couldn’t save her. Only ends badly, you let someone get too close.” 

Turning away, he stalked across the camp. “Choose, prince. Free me or kill me.” Looking back over his shoulder, he lifted his chin slightly and stated clearly, “I bow to no man.”

Reaching up to the collar, he grasped it in his hands and torced it forcefully, snapping it off his neck and throwing the broken pieces to the ground. Everyone gasped in utter disbelief and fled from his path  
.  
“Ripper, wait!” The prince took several steps after him, hand outstretched as if to stop him. He actually did for a moment, continuing to glare back over his shoulder.

“You can call me anything you want. My name… is Riddick.”

~FINI~

AN: This little tale continues in Awakening, what happens when Riddick and *Lyliath meet and he recovers his memory.


End file.
